


Up and Down

by Dr_Cat



Series: Like Minded [12]
Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:35:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24346621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Cat/pseuds/Dr_Cat
Summary: Tag for "A Good Knight's Work"  How did they get down from there?
Series: Like Minded [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642711
Comments: 9
Kudos: 12





	Up and Down

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Knight Rider or the respected characters mentioned in this story. They were created by Glen A. Larson and are copyrighted to NBC/Universal.

"What in the world!?" I hear someone gawk. They act as if they've never seen a car before.

"How'd they get up there?!" Another person marvels as if they've never seen an apartment building before.

"They had to be drunk . . . either that or high!" Yet another person reasons. I will concede, though, that they've probably never seen a car go through the balcony window of a fourth-floor apartment building before.

I still can't believe how embarrassing this is. As if being dragged back out through the mess I made wasn't bad enough, now, I'm being hoisted into the air by the city's slowest crane operators for onlookers to speculate and critic. On top of all that, I hate heights. This is downright mortifying.

"I hope no one got hurt," a lady in a purple dress with matching high heels breaths and I want to deactivate all over again. Today just isn't a good day. The last few days haven't been good either.

First, that annoying monstrosity of a bear masquerading as a child's cuddly companion had to be the focus of our mission, then Michael's life was in danger due to a man I'd never met; an enemy from Michael Long's past. Not to mention, our client turned out to be in cahoots with the adversary the whole time. Then, I was ordered to crawl up into the back of a dingy moving van and forced to _**turn off**_ by Michael because of these people, to boot.

I know, in the end, this is probably not the worst outcome but after watching Michael and Gina climb into the back of an unmarked police car while I was being pulled out by the bumper via the city's slowest crane operators . . . well, I am far from good.

"Do you think the chain's slipping?!" one of the salvagers yells. My decent stops and my sensibilities grate. I know they're trying to be safe; I want them to be safe; I appreciate they're dedication to that safety. But the chain isn't slipping. It's shifting with my weight; like it's supposed to. Is it terrifying? Yes, but necessary. Please, get me down.

"Maybe I should double-check it, eh?" the other man shouts over the angry traffic noise below. It's amazing how little patience the average motorist has for obstructions to their daily routine. Usually, I can ignore such hotheadedness, but considering I am the obstruction, it simply adds to my own frustrations. For goodness sake! Just lower the boom, let the rigging do its job and get me down, now!

"Well, we could secure it for the night and move it in the morning when there's less traffic to deal with."

Oh, absolutely no. I'm not planning on spending a night dangling here in the wind.

"How about we move the car to the top of the parking garage next door. That's where it originated from, right?" I say over my voice projector, using my best maintenance worker impression. I see the mobile crane operator look to the neighboring building. I hope against hope he doesn't question where on earth that voice came from.

"Hey, yeah! That's a great idea. It'll be a lot easier than trying to lower this baby to the ground," he remarks with a smile.

Thank goodness. I feel better already as he begins pulling levers and maneuvering me towards blessed, solid ground.

"Wait! I don't want this thing to become a wrecking ball with you swinging it all over the place," one of the men, a structural engineer I believe, calls from his spot on the sidewalk. My aerial progress halts once again as does my contentment. Why is this happening to me?

"Double check the rigging first, then we'll see about planting it on the garage," he says, while two others ascend the boom's ladder. I reanalyze the chains of the hoist and the coupling hooks around each of my four tires. They are secure; I wouldn't even have allowed them to move me if they hadn't of been.

"And Tony, be careful. Take it one rung at a time!"

Again, I respect these gentlemen's commitment to being careful, but these guys, excuse the vernacular, need to get real. I've learned you can't control every conceivable variable and I'm a computer. I don't see what these men are going to achieve by checking and rechecking every ten-point-nine seconds. I'd almost rather take my chances with gravity.

 _**Beep. Beep** _ **.**

The commlink. That means . . .

"Wow! You're still up there, buddy?"

"Michael, you're back," I say, scanning the area and detecting him underneath the garage's outcropping.

"Yeah, just finished with the third degree. Devon says the D.A. is willing to grant immunity to Gina in exchange for her testimony, but she'll have to go into witness protection. Cameron still has too many connections out there . . . So, what have you been _**up**_ to?" he asks with a smirk I can spot from _**up**_ here.

"It's not funny, Michael," I warn.

"Of, course not. Here I was hoping you'd be ready to roll by now. They really let me _**down**_ ," he says, barely holding a snicker.

"I'm not in the mood for bad puns, Michael," I warn, again, with potency.

"Alright, pal. Patch me through to Devon on the commlink and I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, Michael," I say as I fulfill the request. After a few moments of back and forth conversation regarding the logistics of my partner's antics being covered by the Foundation's contingency funds, the crane operators receive a call from their foreman. Soon, I am on the move towards the parking garage, and, I must admit, it takes every ounce of control I have not to act on the impulse to pull away from the cables at full throttle once my tires touch the ground.

Another few moments and I'm free of that crane, intolerant traffic, and apartment complex, hopefully, for good. However, the saga continues as Michael and I are back on Wilshire Boulevard headed west towards Gina's apartment. Apparently, she and her Mighty pain in the neck required assistance packing, and, of course, Michael offered to help. I'm not irritated, but he doesn't seem to think so. Once we arrive, he tells me to take a breather and I am gladly left out of surveillance mode. I can finally sit and process the day's events without distraction.

But, then I realize . . . I have to process this harrowing day's events without distraction.

Grant it, most of today's proceedings are dealt with on a regular basis. Life-threatening danger; all the time. High-speed rescues; customary. Minor annoyances; daily. But, having to deactivate wasn't; leaving Michael's side wasn't; being alone wasn't.

Michael said we could compare notes later. I might take him up on that offer because it's one thing to turbo boost through an apartment complex and entirely another to be completely shut down without knowing if I'd ever come back online again . . . It reminds me of Karr . . . It reminds me of Goliath . . . it's a lot to contemplate.

What's more, I didn't know if Michael would be okay. There was no way of me finding out if he were okay either. There would be no one to watch his back or keep him out of trouble or deflect the bullets . . . or catch him out of a four-story window. We both might have been shut down permanently if it hadn't of been for April's foresight. I will have to thank her once we get back.

In fact, I hear Michael coming now, whistling, of all things.

"Got a little surprise for ya there, pal," he announces, opening the driver's side door. I spot what he has in his hand and . . . I can't believe it!

"I've had all the surprises I can handle for one day, Michael," I reply back earnestly, trying to keep my displeasure in check, but it's been such a long day.

"I'd like to introduce our new partner," he says, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

"You know how I feel about that little monstrosity," I state with more aggravation this time, hoping to get my point across. He squeezes its nose.

_Hi, I'm Mighty Mouth! What's your name?_

I choose not to respond because this has to be some kind of terrible joke and, perhaps, if I ignore the bait it'll fall flat. He sets it **down** in the passenger seat, goes into gear, and throttles out. He can't be serious, can he?

 _Just where do you think you're taking me?_ It voices with enough allegation to convict. I detest it.

"Michael, I thought you said that we were leaving that nasty little bear with Gina," I admittedly whine. I don't want to . . . but then I notice the sly glance he gives the bear.

"She doesn't need him anymore, Kitt."

I quickly gain insight from his inflection; a marvelous little understanding; the reason it's in the passenger seat.

"Let's buy him a one-way ticket to Paradise."

_Oh yeah! You and whose army!"_

"Bye-Bye, Mighty Mouth," Michael says with a laugh as I promptly eject the menace into the air. I don't know how he does it, but my partner always finds a way to cheer me _**up**_ even when I'm **down**.

* * *

_Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of a friend springs from their heartfelt advice. Proverbs 27:9_


End file.
